


Two Sides

by IFrozeYourCookie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Because no angst is just not me, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Sheriarty - Freeform, Temporarily Unrequited Love, alternative ending, jimlock, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 09:16:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18407642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IFrozeYourCookie/pseuds/IFrozeYourCookie
Summary: What would happen if Sherlock had set off the bomb in the pool, and risked more than he could bargain for? Two out of three survived, and they are at the two opposite sides of the law, and are obsessed with one another.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something for my Sheriarty shippers because we need more of it in the world.  
> Based on an rp I did with an amazing person, my own personal Sherlock that tolerates me as Moriarty

 Sherlock had been excited all day, finally having the opportunity to meet Moriarty face to face, and have a good conversation with him. What he hadn't been expecting was John to walk out and for there to be a bomb strapped to him. Seeing that made his heart sink because he simply couldn't let John die. Not because of him. After the explosion, Sherlock remembered the stab of fear as his eyes searched for John and surprisingly, for Moriarty too. It didn't take long before everything went black and he crumpled, cool water enveloping every inch of him.

   He didn't remember being pulled out of the water except for the cool air hitting his wet skin, and being forced to breathe, nor being taken to the car. Once they were speeding away, only a few pained breaths left him as the combination of blood and water soaked his curls and the seats of the car, his body shaking from the shock and the cold. Such a large explosion of course earned him more wounds than just on the head, but the pain there was overwhelming to the point his other wounds felt a lot less painful. His breathing remained a slow rasp, his blue-tinged lips shaking from the cold.

   "You bloody idiot, why did you do that," Jim mumbled with whatever energy he had left from the pain. Jim obviously didn't expect Sherlock to set the bomb off, considering the both of the would want the game to continue. He honestly enjoyed the distraction from Sherlock, and maybe he actually enjoyed the attention from Sherlock. He himself was badly injured too, actually, but still able, so he tried to keep Sherlock awake for now before they reach his private care unit somewhere hidden in the city. Sherlock didn't stay awake for much longer and quickly fell unconscious again, making Jim curse under his breath.

   Sebastian was waiting for them when they arrived and immediately looked Jim over, worry flooding his features in a split second.  
   "What happened?!" he asked, helping Jim out of the car.  
   "This idiot set the bomb off" he sighed and held onto Sherlock, just to make sure he's still breathing. He forced Sebastian to make sure Sherlock is properly treated and to try as hard as he can to not punch the man when he wakes up. Without any other option, Sebastian could only comply, although with a slight hesitation but going against the order might be the cause of his demise. Some other workers there took Jim to be treated and he managed to take a peek to where Sherlock was taken to, before being taken into a room in which doctors are already prepared for him.

   Sebastian carried Sherlock to a room similar to Jim's, and the doctors started working on him, first getting him out of the wet clothes, and then tending to his head and his other injuries. They had to breathe for him a few times, the hard knock on the head and water in his lungs already taking its toll. Sebastian was there when he woke up, the curly-haired man immediately saying John's name the moment he had the ability to speak up. Sebastian was well aware that John was dead as reported by one of the people who drove to the pool to get Jim out after the explosion. But he knew he wasn't there to give out news, and only just to make sure Sherlock was taken care of and wont run away. And placing him there to look after Sherlock was a wise idea, because Sherlock had started trying to get up after Sebastian didn't give out any answers for all his questions.

   Sherlock was wide eyed and full of fear, not knowing of his fate from there on. They eventually had to sedate him to keep him calm enough. A doctor that came in minutes later informed Moriarty, straight after checking on his vitals, about Sherlock's condition and that he had woken up. Jim shouldn't be walking but he just had to check on Sherlock. Why he cared so much, he himself wasn't too sure. Reaching the room, he opened it and told Sebastian to man outside the door before sitting at the chair near Sherlock's bed, looking over to the man who was now half sitting up.  
   "...Sherlock?" he tried getting his full attention, despite seeing the man's eyes barely opened and lips parted. Blood had soaked through his bandage again and he had nail marks in his palm from the futile attempt to keep himself calm before the sedation. He looked at Jim, and instead of the usual curiosity he would cast upon anyone, it was anger and fear.

   "Sherlock, can you say something?" he goes a bit closer to Sherlock and frowned when he sees the red through his bandage.  _Need to get that checked again_ , he thought. His own arm was bandaged, so he carefully moved it to try to pull Sherlock's finger open because he realized he was gripping too hard that it might bleed if he kept that up, but was startled when Sherlock tried to grip Jim's with so much force that he flinched.  
   "You still need to be taken care of" he said in his usual strict voice.

   Sherlock was holding tight to Jim, being careful not to hold where he was hurt. He slowly relaxed and shook his head.  
   "Only John is allowed to take care of me. I don't like others touching me" he didn't like anyone to touch him, and it had taken John a while to gain enough of Sherlock's trust to do so.  
   "What happened and where am I" he almost whimpered, releasing Jim and frowned as he looked him over. "You should be in a hospital bed"  
Jim looked down at himself and slowly shook his head. "I can manage. You, however, should remain in bed for proper recovery". With a heavy sigh, he sat back down and maintain eye contact with Sherlock before breaking the news about John.  
   "You will be taken care of by my people from now on," he paused before continuing, "When they arrived to retrieve me from the explosion, I told them to find you, and, frankly speaking, John didn't survive the explosion. Only us two managed to get out"

   Upon the revelation, Sherlock could only stare at him wide eyed. He shook his head so hard he thought he'd puke.  
   "John-John can't be dead. It's just not possible" he said slowly but firmly. It was John. John didn't die, he shouldn't. "Why didn't you tell them to get him out? He's worth a thousand times more than me. You're just trying to trick me, aren't you? To keep me here" he yanked the IV out of his arm and started getting up, swaying once his feet touched the cold floor.  
   "Sherlock-" he hold onto Sherlock, making sure he stay lying down on the bed and at the same time trying to comfort him somehow, giving him something to hold onto, maybe, even though it was hurting his injuries doing so.

   "John was already dead when they arrived. What do you expect me to do?!" he raised his voice slightly, just frustrated at this point. He felt Sherlock held onto him with shaking hands as he shook his head.  
   "Just stop. Stop saying that. I told him it would be okay... That I had it under control. He trusted me and... and-" he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by emotions as he pressed his face to Jim's aching shoulder. "If he's really dead, then  _I_  killed him," he finally got out.

   Jim grimaced at the pain from Sherlock pressing on his shoulder but decided to just let it pass. Sherlock's well-being was at the top of his head more than that for now.  
   "You can't just assume it's your fault. You didn't know you'd survive and he'd die"  
   "I'm not assuming. I'm the one that triggered the bomb. He is now gone and it's my fault," he said, being sure of himself about this. "And I didn't think I'd survive. Figured I would've drowned in the pool," he closed his eyes and spoke in a softer voice, "You should've left me".

   "No. You were still breathing, and I have a chance to save you. For god's sake, Sherlock, I didn't want you to die" he gently pried Sherlock's hands away from his injured shoulder and sat up straighter while holding onto the said shoulder to try and repress the pain even just for a bit. Sherlock let his hands fall to his lap and looked away.  
   "And now I suppose you aren't letting me go? You're going to keep me," he watched Jim hold his shoulder, knowing the man was injured too, but couldn't find the words to tell him to go to rest.  
   "Letting you go, especially now, would mean letting you die. What can you even do in this state? Even if you're healed and I let you roam free, someone would bound to kill you because let's not forget that you almost killed _me_ , a.k.a. their boss," he sighed and leaned back into his chair. "Stop complaining like a child, Sherlock".

   "Fine," he snapped. He was still trying to cope with the fact his best friend was dead. "You should rest. You're injured" he said as a matter of factly.  
   "Can I trust you enough to not run away or attack the guard I would place here?" he stood up slowly and put his hand on the bed.  
   "I don't know. Can you?" he asked and rolled his eyes as he laid back down, looking young and defeated. Jim could only sigh and caressed Sherlock's cheek ever so softly and briefly, which Sherlock leaned into the touch and closed his eyes.  
   "I hope I can" letting his hand fall back to his side, he stepped back a bit. "I'll check up on you from time to time". He was already at the door when he heard Sherlock's faint response.  
   "I'll be here. I got nowhere else to go". Jim could only nod and left the way he came.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up longer than expected? On a considerable margin, too. But anyhow, enjoy

   Jim had his own injuries checked by the medical staffs, and also sent some of them to change the bandage dressing on Sherlock that was already soaked with blood. Sherlock may not like him now, but really he had no choice. John is a goner, and Jim is all he have now. There's plenty more of the game left to play but maybe it's not going to happen, considering how bad both of them were injured.

   In another room, Sherlock let them fix him without any fight, just laying there and kept his eyes shut. He was clueless as to how to cope with John's death and wasn't quite sure of how to deal with his new issues either. So after they left, he just curled up in a ball on his side and closed his eyes, escaping to the one place he could rely on-his mind palace.

   It wasn't much but his people managed to extract John's corpse from the pool and presumably Mycroft settled everything afterwards in exchange for him keeping Sherlock there safe and sound. It was a sort of a custom, for his men to get him something from the crime scene of the chaos he caused, as a trophy. If it's murder, it's like his kill count. For this catastrophic meeting with Sherlock and John, his men handed over a piece of John's jacket from the pool-recognizable, even with a speck of blood. After a few hours of contemplating, he brought the piece of cloth along with him when he came back to look at Sherlock. When he came by, Sherlock was curled tightly, blanket up to his shoulders.  
   "Have you eaten anything?" he asked while moving beside the bed, and didn't get any response. Sherlock was still deep inside his own head. The only voice apart from his own was Sebastian's, who poked his head in just a moment after he asked the question to the motionless Sherlock.  
   "He's been like that for hours. Hasn't moved," said Sebastian, mild exasperation in his voice.

   "Well then," he gently shook Sherlock's shoulder, hoping to wake him up. One of the staff did bring a tray of food here but maybe because Sherlock wasn't responding to any of their words, they decided to just leave it there. Sherlock shifted away from Jim's hand and his eyes opened, looking a bit glazed over and out of it. He looked at Jim and sat up.  
   "If you're going to force me to eat, it isn't going to be pretty" he replied, pretty disgruntled for being disturbed.  
   "Dear, I'm not going to force you to eat. But you still need to eat," he sat down beside Sherlock's bed and just looked over to him.

   He noticed the 'dear' but didn't tell Jim not to, thinking that's just how Jim talks.Sherlock watched Jim, eyes sad, having read through the purpose of the shorter man's visit. It's not merely to just check up on him.  
   "They found the body, didn't they?" he asked quietly. If they'd really found the body, then that would mean done deal. John was dead and he had nothing to live for. Just when he found someone worth living for, worth being close to, he had lost that person.

   Jim kept his eyes steady at Sherlock as he put the little piece of jacket belonging to John on the bed, "surely that's answer enough". Sherlock reached for it, long fingers curled around it and shuddered slightly.  
   "Thank you," he nodded, and closed his eyes, biting the inside of his mouth to distract himself with the pain. Jim noticed how visibly Sherlock was holding in the pain, more emotionally at that moment. He let out a long breath and soften his expression.  
    "How are you?'   
Sherlock opened his eyes, the verdigris eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I'm..." he thought about lying but- "I'm a bit not good," his voice was tight and small.  
   "Anything I can do?" Jim asked with a hint of sympathy in the question. Sherlock shook his head almost immediately. He didn't know if Jim could do anything to help. His other half was dead and it was his fault.

   "Stop blaming yourself too much. It shows on your face". Slowly, he moved his hand beside Sherlock on the bed. He wanted to hold the man's hand but maybe it would startle him, but the closeness should be fine. And it  _was_ indeed fine, because he noticed Sherlock cast a glance at his hand before relaxing when he didn't move further. Sherlock handed the jacket scrap back.  
   "I assume you'll keep this with your other little mementos," his voice was raw, as he decided to let some of his emotion out before it suffocate him.  
   "If I wanted to keep it, I wouldn't have brought it to you," he let the cloth stay on Sherlock's palm and looked at it.  
   "I brought it here, because I'd assume you would want to keep it".

   Sherlock looked at him, bewilderment on his face. He'd expected to be carted away for torture at anytime and didn't expect Jim to be this thoughtful.  
   "Oh. Well, thank you," he pulled his hand back to his chest and looked Jim over. "Are  _you_ okay?".  
   "I don't usually get blown up or injured, you see. So I'm not too well. I feel like my dignity is scratched for being so damaged," he leaned back and crossed his legs. "But otherwise, I'm fine".  
Sherlock nodded at the reply. He didn't want Jim to be actually hurt. "Your dignity will be just fine. Think about mine," he gave a dry laugh that led into a round of coughing. Jim just looked at Sherlock coughing before handing over a glass of water.  
   "Both of out dignity is in risk of falling to pieces. We should stay under the radar for now. The press will give you hell"  
Sherlock sipped the water and thanked him. "The press already gives me hell. I can breathe and they attack me," he laid back before continuing, "and I didn't think you'd let me leave, being your pet and all".

   Jim eyed him briefly, "I'd let you leave this building when you're healed. But that doesn't mean you can leave my sight". Sherlock hummed and crossed his legs, playing with the IV in his hand.  
   "That makes more sense. I expected something like that"  
   "Did you really think I'd let you go, especially since you caused our little game to stop with an explosion? Oh no, you need to make up with what you did"  
   "No, I didn't expect to be let go so easily. I expected to be killed in the explosion," he snapped, raising his voice higher. "And just  _how_ do I make up for something like that?"  
   "Hm I thought maybe I'd let you decide on that," he licked his lips and rest his head on his hand. "I would ask you to be on my side, but it would take time for you to say yes".

   Sherlock's face hardens. "You mean, instead of solving crimes, you want me to commit them? That'll never happen," his voice was almost a snarl as he sat back up. Jim cleared his throat as he read a phrase he memorized.  
   " ' _He'd be an amazing criminal if he had turned his skills against the law'._ That was Johnny boy's words wasn't it? He wouldn't exactly be surprised if you'd say yes,"  
   "Don't call him that," he warned. "But yes, those are John's words. Maybe he was right. But I won't do that. He'd be so disappointed in me..."  
   "He can't be disappointed now, can he?" he had to hold his tongue from saying that  _because he is dead_. Sherlock must get the idea anyway, and he's not trying to build up his anger right now. At least not when he's still stuck on a bed with tubes attached to him. Sherlock's eyes were sharp and he clenched his jaw.  
   "Well then maybe I'd like to live the remainder of my life the way he would've wanted me to"  
   "Whatever you say, Sherly" he seriously wasn't expecting a different answer. But by time, he would be slowly pulled to the criminal side anyway.

   "You should still eat," he insisted.  
   "Not hungry," Sherlock muttered and closed his eyes, wanting to end this conversation soon. "I'll eat later"  
   "Later usually means never when it comes to eating for you. I want you to eat, right now, in front of me"  
Sherlock raised his chin and crossed his arms, part challenging and part ready to throw a tantrum.  
   "I will not eat right now. I refuse to. I don't feel well"  
   "Just make sure you drink the water they bring in from time to time. And at least eat something once today. How do you expect to recover if you're acting like a child, Sherlock?" his voice was oozing from frustration because eventhough Sherlock is a nemesis, he needed him as a distraction.  
   "Maybe I don't expect to recover. Maybe I don't want to. Ever think of that?" he asked. "No one asked if I wanted to be saved"  
   "You can't expect me to leave you for dead, Sherlock. Not especially when I know you can be saved"

   Sherlock rolled his eyes at Jim's misplaced determination. "I promise to eat later and drink often".  
   "How long would you estimate for you to be able to walk without pain again?" He honestly could guess himself but seeing that he's not the bearer of the pain, might as well ask. It  _is_ Sherlock, anyway.The estimation out of his mouth would be more accurate than his own.  
   "I don't know. I don't even know what's wrong with me," he lifted the blanket aside. "I should be able to walk now. It's just that my head and chest hurts," he watched Jim's face, being honest and giving a good estimate of his condition.  
   "Do you want to walk around? Well, obviously with me because or else, they'll think you're onto something devious"  
   "I suppose," he started to push himself up. "Can you take the IV out, please?" he asked softly, eyes downcast, hating that he felt weak at the moment. Jim was surprisingly gentle in his movements taking out the IV drip from Sherlock before he helped the man up.  
   "You need to hold onto me just in case," he showed his arm, although it was the injured arm, but it was the closest to Sherlock and it should help provide some support, even if just a little.  
Sherlock frowned at the offer. "But you're hurt," he shook his head and almost fell sideways from the pain in his head when he did so. He took Jim's other arm, not wanting to hurt the shorter man even if this was the perfect chance.  
   "I don't care if I'm hurt, Sherlock. Right now, I'm trying to keep in mind about making sure you're healed and well"

   Sherlock realized he was in comfortable clothes and not a hospital gown, but it wasn't his ruined clothes from the pool either. He shrugged, immediately regretting it.  
   "Well you must worry about yourself too. I can't have my kidnapper dying one me". Jim began walking but at a slower pace, just to make sure Sherlock doesn't faint while walking.  
   " _Kidnapper._ Is that what I am to you, then?" he maintained a facade that was none too emotional but not stoic either. Sherlock easily kept up with the pace set for him, looking around and taking it all in.  
   "Well, kidnapper, saviour, pain in my ass," he chuckled a bit at the last one and looked at Jim. "I don't know what to classify you as yet," he kept his voice calm and empty of emotion.  
   "You, but shorter?" he half-smiled at Sherlock and proceeded into different hallways to find an indoor garden so they could sit down and breathe in some fresh air. Sherlock caught up to the suggestion and laughed softly.  
   "I suppose. But we aren't quite the same, are we? You're much more emotional than I am,"  
   "You're more emotional, Sherlock. You just don't show it all that much.  _'High functioning sociopath'_ , huh?"  
   "Exactly," he nodded. "I am a sociopath. So don't get your hopes up for an emotional breakdown and me crawling into your arms for comfort," Jim was right. Sherlock had all these emotions, just didn't really know how to deal with them which led to very bad and destructive habits.

   "Mhm you claim to be one, but I know you're not. Sherlock, I'm  _you_. Of course I know how much you suppress those emotions," he led Sherlock to sit on a long chair in the indoor garden, sort of like a greenhouse too, actually, but least it had the crisp and fresh air suitable for both of their state. Sherlock seemed to relax in the garden, sitting in the chair with closed eyes. He looked over to Jim a minute later.  
   "It's easier to suppress emotions rather than deal with them"  
   "Most times, all you have to do is talk about it, Look at me, I'm very talkative and loud about things. It helps a bit. But if it doesn't, then that's one of the use of this garden. It calms you".  
Sherlock hummed thoughtfully. "I think I'll just come here. Or play my violin," he paled for a moment. "I-I can still play, right?" He sounded panicked at the thought of not being able to play it.  
   "Of course you can play. I can have someone bring your violin over. Or if you'd like a new one, maybe?" He already had a phone in his hands, ready to send out orders to his men to bring the violin over. Sherlock looked at Jim, a bit shocked about how willing he was to make Sherlock stay, or make him...  _happy_?  
   "My old one is fine. She's been with me for a long time," he said quietly and looked away, towards the many types of flowers and plants grown in that garden.  
   "Of course," he tapped into his phone and when he put it back in his pockets, he noticed Sherlock looked away and seemed a bit... distanced. "What?"  
Sherlock took a minute to respond, "nothing. Just thinking," he shook his head and looked at Jim.

   "Just thinking"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to keep updating but I have another exam coming up and then I'll be done with college afterwards. I probably would be able to find more time by then. So hopefully this fic won't be abandoned like one or two of my Johnlock chaptered fics, because I really like this rp I did with this lovely person


	3. Chapter 3

   "Nothing. Just... thinking,"

 

   Jim crossed his legs at those words, clearly not done with the conversation. "And usually at this time, you would tell me what you were thinking about. That's one way or another to deal with your emotions," he commented as-a-matter-of-factly, while leaning back into the bench. All Sherlock had to offer at the first second was just a simple, thoughtful hum. Even when Jim wanted an answer, Sherlock took the little opportunity to enjoy the silence, before breaking it.

   "So I know you want me as a... pet. But what exactly will I be doing for you as one?" he asked, the sentence coming out cautiously and piece by piece as if he was really trying to form a perfect sentence to offend the smaller man.

    "Such a harsh term there, Sherlock, but not wrong. But all you would have to do is be with me. Keep me company. It gets boring here without like-minded people," he let out an exaggerated sigh and slumped back on the bench, arms resting at the backrest. Sherlock just slowly nodded and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. He had expected something worse, so even if the description given doesn't sound too bad, he knew there must be something more to it. Jim saw his calculating face, trying to deduce to the last particle what the explanation had meant. He simply grunted before giving another explanation.

   "Sherlock." he said sharply, trying to penetrate the wall of thoughts the man was having. " I'm not putting you so lowly. If you're with me, that's privilege enough because even my men have to respect you. I told them in advance not to touch you and follow simple orders as long as it's not against me," he looked out to the garden and avoided Sherlock's stare that he could feel through his skull. Sherlock could tell that he meant a lot to Moriarty, so he thought that he doesn't have a reason to lie about what he just said about his newfound status here.

   He knew that this was an abrupt change-for the both of them, really. For Jim to have someone else reign beside him and for Sherlock to have someone in control of him, and in a different side of the law. But Sherlock was special, in a way. No one had managed to make him thrilled for something like how Sherlock did. So, that was what he thought he would want to do-show his clients and men that Sherlock was something to fear, but not to be feared more than himself. Sort of like Jim's secret weapon.

   "I'll comply. But I really don't want your men touching me. I don't like that," he made a slightly disgusted face at the idea of it.

   "Of course, Sherlock. Whatever. But  _I_  can, right?" he turned to Sherlock with a questioning, almost hopeful face. Sherlock took his time considering this, given that he had the chance for a choice right now. God knows how much choices he could make under Jim's control.  
   "Yes... But sometimes I won't let you. It's just that I could get overwhelmed so don't get upset," he said these in a cautious tone, watching Jim from his peripheral.  
   "And now?" Jim asked as he held out his hand but still keeping his initial distance. Sherlock considered it and finally properly looking at him.  
   "It's alright now. I'm sure you'll be able to deduce when I don't welcome it. You're rather observant". Well, they don't consider to be one if they don't have the same observational skills. Jim nodded before taking Sherlock's hand in his. It wasn't a romantic gesture whatsoever. He was just checking on his pulse, his temperature and he was also checking for any sign of trauma that might have happened to end up on his hand. Everything seemed okay generally, but he kept his hand on Sherlock's anyway even after checking his vitals.  
   "Good to know you're doing well so far in recovery," he commented plainly.

   Sherlock gave a dry laugh, hand twitching in Jim's. "It's only been a few hours". He paused abruptly after muttering those words, wondering if he had gotten that fact wrong. "Hasn't it?" he asked in a soft, vulnerable way.  
   "It's been a whole day. You're in your mind palace quite long," he looked down at Sherlock's much bigger hand in his, before muttering another slower response, as if wanting to not be noticed by the ear. "I was just worried". Sherlock nodded absently, keeping his gaze fixed at Jim's side profile.  
   " _I_ am worried. I feel like I'm missing something. Not everything seemed to be operational," he whispered. Sherlock hated the feeling of not having full control of himself, so of course he'd be worried. Scared, too, if he's being honest. It's like being a bit hard to breathe but not being able to gasp more air into his lungs.

    "You only need time to adjust. An explosion is a big deal, even for you," Jim properly looked at Sherlock's face, trying to emphasize his next words. "You're not indestructable".

   Sherlock laughed sadly at this, "I used to think I was. Still think so too". As he let his laugh falter, he just stared at nothing in particular, whispered reassurance to himself; "I'll adjust..."  
   "I'm sure you will, Sherlock. You're accustomed to adjustments, considering you were in the MI6 back in the days It's what you do,"  
   "Technically I'm still a part of it. What I was doing at the pool was for Myke," he smiled as he used his older brother's nickname that he despised all too much but Sherlock knew a part of Mycroft liked the affection aspect of the nickname.  
   Jim cleared his throat after a moment of silence after he spoke. "Do you need anything else? I can't really keep you off the IV drip for too long. I may have the power to do anything here but only a fool argues with his doctor,"  
   "No, I don't think I need anything for the moment. I can't really do anything anyway," Sherlock answered after a beat, and Jim stood up then held out a hand to Sherlock as an invitation to follow suit.  
   "Well, if you have nothing else needed, you should go back to the caring unit and get some rest. I do have more work to do. Unlike in your situation, a bomb doesn't stop the consultations I have to do,"

   Sherlock stood and looked at Jim's hand, wondering if it's even necessary for him to take it. But at this point, he doesn't know what's safe or what's not to do so he just complied to the offer and started walking.  
   "Shouldn't you be resting too?" Sherlock asked, but kept his eyes forward, because he knew that question took Jim by surprise, because it would have sounded like he  _cared_ for the sick and twisted criminal.  
   "I should, but then again I have a lot to do," he walked down the same path they took earlier, towards Sherlock's room. Sherlock wordlessly trailed him, but also seemingly also memorized the path they took.   
   "Oh well, not that I care. Just curious," he clarified. Sherlock realized that he honestly should just kill Jim and run away but the safehouse was too heavily guarded for him to attempt, even if the men should not lay a finger on him.  
   "Of course you care. You're just embarrassed to admit it," Jim, at this point, was trying to keep the conversation as casual as he can with Sherlock. He wouldn't like to scare him away, because he knew the man have its uses.

   Sherlock made a face at this remark. "I  _really_ don't care. I'm a high functioning sociopath, remember?". He stopped at his room and stared at the door, not really having any will to go back in.  
   "Pity. I hope you'd care even a bit," he said and stopped when he noticed the detective was frozen at the door so he tugged his arm. "You need to go in, you know?"  
   Sherlock dropped his head, partly in defeat and partly in exhaustion. "I know I need to,"  _but that doesn't mean I want to_. He felt sick at the thought coursing through his mind but let Jim take him in anyway when he felt the shorter man opened the door and pulled him in. Cautiously, Jim settled him back to the bed reattached the necessary tubes and needles back in place. Sherlock closed his eyes right at the moment his body hit the bed. Even if it's not that soft, but considering his exhausting taking its toll every two seconds, it was enough.

   "You know, Sherlock. I'm curious why you hate me so much,"  
   "I don't hate you. What gives you  _that_ idea?" He sighed as he settled back to find a more comfortable position. He doesn't really _hate_ Jim. Upset? Sure. But not hate.  
   "You tried to blow me up, for fucks sake,"  
   "To do what I had to do for my country and the world," he interrupted because he couldn't just take all the blame. He went there for the mission Mycroft sent him on. He would rather come out in one piece but missions are missions. He can't just chicken out at the eleventh hour. "Those were my orders".  
   "You're never so quaint. Queen and country had never been your push was it? You just want to feel entertained," he huffed his breath, not believing the story entirely. Sure, he went there for the mission, but he could do otherwise but to blow the place up, with him in it.  
   "I do want to be entertained, but sometimes I have to do things because I'm told to," Sherlock explained, and Jim rolled his eyes at this. Sherlock, otherwise, was beginning to pale at the thought of Mycroft finding out he was 'dead' and knowing it was his fault. Such news would not turn out well for his brother.

   "So obedient. You can do nearly everything here, Sherly. No one can tell you otherwise. Won't you like that?"  
   Sherlock shrugged at this supposed offer. "I don't know if I will". He curled on his side again and closed his eyes. He was exhausted from the walking and his head was pounding. Jim stared at him for a while with a silent sigh coming out of him.  
   "I'll send your brother a  _lovely_ note saying you're under my watch. Care to include your own message, dear?" he thought maybe he would tell Mycroft that his dearest baby brother is alive, and in exchange for his safety and hospitality, they should stop trying to find him, or try to kill him. Lord knows if they try to pester with his patience especially at this big of an offer, he could serve the world about Britain's security leak that's under his thumb right now, and their party should know better than to test him.

   Sherlock bit his lip and thought about it for a bit. "Tell Mycroft I'm sorry," he said quietly and closed his eyes back, his breathing growing slower as he drifted off in attempt to fend off the guilt, the exhaustion, the grief and the whole memory overall of what he had experienced in such a short time period. One word would just be as appropriate to describe what he felt, and it was; (a) whirlwind.


End file.
